


To the Beating of a Slumb'ring Heart

by Malkuthe



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons, M/M, references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malkuthe/pseuds/Malkuthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, I wonder, did he ever want to be a warrior like me?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Beating of a Slumb'ring Heart

I have always been a warrior. The closed door in front of me doesn't stand the slightest chance. For that reason among a number of others. Inside the room is the man that has made the last couple of decades bearable for me. He is asleep, but that isn't a bad thing. In fact, I was hoping he would be. It would be much easier this way.

I walk over to him. He is as beautiful as the day that I met him, and I can't help but blush as I brush my fingers over his lips. I press my own to his, but he doesn't stir, and it's not quite the same. My touch has made his lips go cold.

I take a moment to look around, to see the comforts that he has collected from the people important to him. My eyes wander to the nightstand by his bed, and among an assortment of flowers and picture frames of people that are familiar to me, is a small trinket I never would have thought he could keep. It is there, incredulous as I might be; it was an icosahedron, a die, 20-faced, made of obsidian, with gilded letters that glittered even in the dim light.

I may be a warrior now, may have always been, but it seems, even now, he is himself still my cleric.

I thread my fingers through his hair of fine-spun gold. It is so soft to the touch that I have to wonder if he is still using the same faintly-pineapple-scented shampoo that he had used all those years ago. I press my nose to his hair and while everything is muted to my senses, I can still smell _him._

I press a kiss to his cheek before I pull down the sheets covering his chest. I feel like a teenager all over again, exploring my boyfriend's body for the first time. I press my cheek against his shoulder and smile. This was just like the old days. Him, asleep, I, awake, touching him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. It's almost as though I'm trying to remind myself that he actually is real.

I press my ear to his chest, just like I used to, when I began to feel sleepy. I like listening to the beating of his heart. It is always so much slower, so much calmer than mine. It's only natural. He's never lived the same life of risk that I have. There is a reason that he is before me, sleeping quietly, and I am here, wide-awake, creeping on him.

I can't help but wonder, listening to the calming rhythm of his heart, does he ever wish he lived the same way I did? Does he ever wish he had been a warrior like I have always been? It hardly matters now, does it? He is there on his bed, and here I am standing beside him, so close, yet literally worlds apart.

It isn't long, before, with the greying of the sky at the break of dawn, that he begins to stir. I'm tempted to jump back but today, something holds me back. I remain there, my ear pressed to his bare chest. I feel slender, almost-bony fingers tangle in my hair. I feel a hand caressing the curve of my cheek.

He says nothing, but I know what's on his mind. Or at least I fancy the thought that I know. I finally see you, I imagine him saying in his mind to me, but the words remain unspoken. His touch is all I need to feel, to know that I am loved.

His fingers are slowly moving through my hair, tousling it in that same loving way that he used to. I see no reason to move. I stay there, ear pressed to his chest, listening to the beat of his heart as he comes to his rest.

The slow, calm thumping begins to grow fainter, and weaker. I look up for once, just to see his brilliant blue eyes, dulled by his age, but still beautiful as in our youth. They close, and as the beating of his heart comes to a halt, I hear the whisper of his last breath.

I feel a hand on my shoulder after the longest time, and I turn. I see him there, young again, resplendent like all the years I knew him. I smile. He smiles. We come together in a kiss as the dawn breaks and golden light floods the room.

We are two souls entwined, so close then, so close now, but no longer with the gulf that had once stretched between us. "Nico," he breathed.

"Will," is all I have to say. He smiles. I smile again. Even death couldn't keep the warrior and his cleric apart.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short, sweet, flangsty piece that I wrote this morning on my phone. I hope you like it. :3. It's a bit of an experimental writing style, so, I don't mind if you don't like it. But if you do, leave a kudos and a comment! Nothing would make me happier. :3.


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